


Anger

by riverofyou



Series: Seven Sins [2]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anger, Character Death, Heavy Angst, M/M, Murder, Plot Twists, Seven Deadly Sins, pretty odd era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverofyou/pseuds/riverofyou
Summary: When everything around him begins to crumble, Brendon snaps.





	Anger

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence, major character death. Art in fic by @charlotte.card on Instagram.

Anger.

A strong feeling of annoyance, rage, or hostility.

 

::

"S-Spencer..." Brendon stutters into the landline, looking around the bloody remnants of their living room. His hands are stained crimson, and his whole body is shaking.

_He's a monster._

"Brendon? What's the matter? Why are you calling so late?" Spencer asks groggily, and Brendon swallows, tears dripping down your face. "I... I need your help. Please?" He whispers into the phone, breathing heavy.

"Of course. Dude, what happened?"

Brendon just lets out a sob, burying his face in his hands. He can't say it. He can't say it.

"Brendon? You're scaring me..." Spencer says, his voice wavering. Brendon sobs again. "Spencer... I killed him. He's dead. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean it!"

"What? Brendon, who is dead? Who did you kill?!" He asks, voice shrill, and Brendon looks around the room.

At the body.

At him.

"Ryan." He whispers, voice cracking. "I killed Ryan, Spencer."

There's a pause.

"I'll be right over." Spencer says, his voice strangled. "Don't do anything yet."

The line goes dead. Brendon stays where he is, the phone falling from his grasp, and slowly, he begins to cry.

::

They weren't the perfect couple. Hell, Brendon knows that towards the end, they were a trainwreck.

But when they were good together, they were good together.

Brendon isn't sure when stuff went from good to bad.

Maybe it was when Ryan became obsessed with the band, with becoming famous.

Maybe it was when they signed to FBR.

Maybe it was when they slowly began to gain more fame? It's hard to be in love under a microscope, especially when you have to HIDE your love.

Brendon remembers when they were in love, how they traded secret smiles and let their hands brush together during band practice, the perfect duet. Spencer and Brent (and then Spencer and Jon) were kind enough not to say anything. Ryan used to write sweet little notes to him and stick them on the bathroom mirror. They used to give each other head secretly on the tour bus, and Ryan would quietly wink at him during interviews.

And that's what their relationship consisted of, for years. No one knew the truth, except for Spencer and Jon. Not Pete. Not their parents. Not the fans, even though they definitely speculated. Ryan always said that they only wanted them to be together because they couldn't have Brendon or Ryan for themselves, which was... admittedly true.

Keeping the secret was sometimes fun. Brendon always had a flair for the dramatic, and keeping their relationship a secret was definitely dramatic enough that it was fun. It was nice, too, not to always be asked about Ryan, or to have every choice he made linked to their relationship, like Pete with Ashley.

The secret was sometimes hard, too, and scary. But then Ryan would look at Brendon like he was the only person in the room. In the world. And Brendon was his all over again. It was sad, how deeply in love he was. How deeply in love they both were, really.

But other times, Brendon yearned to hold Ryan's hand, to tell him he loved him, to share a loving smile or kiss on the cheek, one that wasn't 'meaningless', and for the fans.

Because for Brendon?

It was real.

Brendon remembers the first time he wrote a song. It was the first time he truly felt unloved, unwanted. "I Have Friends In Holy Spaces," written about Ryan and their hidden love. He simply read over it, snorted, and mumbled a soft 'that's good', before turning back to his laptop.

Not a fun feeling.

That was their first fight. Well, not a fight as much as Brendon left the house in tears, refusing to answer Ryan's texts. Turned out, his boyfriend hadn't realized he was serious about writing music. Brendon returned home, expecting for an apology and constructive criticism on the song, instead receiving a glare and an ultimatum: "If you get to write, I get to sing."

Brendon had been so shocked that he had agreed without thinking.

Which caused even more problems. Brendon wanted polished pop for the next record. Ryan wanted psychedelic rock. Ryan wanted to have his vocals on half of the songs. Brendon wanted a hand in writing  _everything_  on the record. It left both of them feeling angry, useless, and defeated.

And from that fury and constant battle over creative control came Pretty. Odd.

Sales weren't the best.

Brendon blamed Ryan's choice of sound.

Ryan blamed Brendon's songwriting.

Ryan started pushing away Brendon on stage, stopped kissing his jaw before a set, and stopped with the romantic letters and little ditties he used to write for Brendon.

In retaliation, Brendon started writing songs with Spencer, away from Ryan and Jon. He knew it would sting. Ryan and Spencer were tight, best friends, and they never were on different pages, musically.

It definitely hurt Ryan, and they had an hour long screaming match over it, full of bared teeth and slammed doors. Afterward, Brendon sank down to the couch, sobbing, breathless and full of sorrow.

Won the battle, lost the war.

It was in that moment that he knew that they were dying.

::

A half hour later, Jon and Spencer have joined Brendon, the three of them staring down at Ryan.

Or, well, what used to be Ryan.

Brendon is wrapped up in a blanket, shivering, tears pouring down his cheeks. Neither Spencer nor Jon attempt to comfort him. He's beyond comforting, anyway, but still, it makes the situation feel more... charged. He feels like Spencer, who has an unreadable expression on his face, might attack him any second.

After several more moments of silence, Jon speaks: "Holy fuck. How did this happen, Brendon? What... what are we going to do? What do we...say?!"

Brendon clears his throat, blinking tears out of his eyes. Crying will do nothing. It won't bring Ryan back. "It happened so fast..." He breathes, and Jon nods, motioning for him to go on. Brendon swallows, then continues: "We were fighting. About, uh... well, about the next album. He said he was leaving."

Jon frowns, tilting his head. "Leaving the band? Brendon, we all knew it was coming..."

Brendon bites his lip, closing his eyes. "N-No. Not just the band. He said he was leaving me, too. I c-couldn't just let him  _go_...! He's my world, Jon! I had to keep him here, with me! I d-didn't want to, I didn't! I didn't even  _mean_  to, I was just so angry! Everything went fucking red, and I was crying, and oh, I grabbed him, and he pulled away and fell, and I couldn't stop m-myself, I just grabbed him and then there were fists, a-and yelling, and t-then there was blood everywhere and then he... was just.... he was gone. My Ryan... gone."

The story seems to snap Spencer out of his reverie, and he looks up, face holding some emotion that Brendon can't quite figure out. "We have to hide this," He says softly, and Jon blinks. "That's fucking insane, Spence. We can't just cover this up! He's our best friend!" He hisses, and yeah, Jon's eyes are full of tears, too. Spencer glares, before sighing. "We'll treat this as a democracy," He starts, and Jon gives him a puzzled look, like democracy is foreign to him. In all honesty, it mostly is. Voting never worked when the four of them were together, because Brendon and Ryan would vote together, or it would be two on two. Usually, they just let the higher-ups make choices, or they would all submit to Ryan or Brendon's bossy commands, depending on who was feeling snarkier that day.

"Brendon!" Spencer snaps urgently, and Brendon focuses on their expectant faces. Jon's expression is pleading, and Spencer's is cold and angry.

"Brendon, you can turn yourself in...! Say it was manslaughter. You'll get a small sentence, like ten years!"

"If you go down, we could get time for being at the crime scene, too! Jon, for Christ's sake, you touched Ryan's body! I'm not fucking going to jail. None of us want to go to jail! Ryan wouldn't want us to!"

That's definitely untrue. Sure, Ryan loved his friends, but he was a firm believer of facing consequences. However, that doesn't seem to register in Brendon's poor, grief-stricken mind, and he lets out a soft sob. "I j-just... I want to go back...!" He says, sounding so lost. So broken.

Spencer swallows, anxiously taking a step forward and grabbing Brendon's hand. "Hey. Bren, buddy, we can figure this out. We can. We'll be okay, we won't go to jail..." He starts, and Brendon wrenches away, features hurt. "I don't care about  _JAIL_! They can lock me up, I deserve it!" Spencer shakes his head. "Don't talk like that, Brendon. It was a mistake, okay?! And Jon and I didn't have anything to do with this, do you want to send two innocent guys to prison?!"

Jon stares, gasping. "Dude! You're being horrible right now! Brendon, we're talking about Ryan! We all deserve to go to jail, you for killing him, and us for coming instead of calling the cops!"

Spencer glares. "You can go to the cops. But if you do, I'll tell them you and Ryan were angry at each other. That you forced Brendon to do it. They'll believe it. Brendon was his lover. Too innocent to do such a thing on his own." Spencer said, grabbing Brendon's shoulders and smirking. "Brendon will give them the puppy dog eyes, point at you and pout his lips, and they'll have you locked up in an instant."

Jon scoffs. "Brendon would never do that," He says, and Spencer glances over at Brendon, who looks confused and fearful, quivering under Spencer's glare. "Right, Bren...?"

Brendon clears his throat, shooting Jon an apologetic stare. "I... You told me to do it, Jon." He whispers, and Jon's jaw drops. "Have you two gone crazy?! This isn't okay! This is  _our best friend_ , he deserves justice!"

Spencer shrugs. "Well, if you want someone serve time, you can. I'd rather avoid prison, thanks. Brendon, he'd never want you to be in danger. In jail? You'll be in danger," He says earnestly, and Brendon nods slowly. Jon scoffs. Ryan wasn't in love with him anymore, and he'd 100% want Brendon locked away. But Brendon doesn't seem to realize any of that, and he just shivers. "Jon... you're either with us, or against us." Brendon says, and Jon gives them both a pleading glance. Brendon gives him a sorrowful glance, but Spencer's face holds no emotion. Impassive.

Finally, Jon swallows, tears falling down his cheeks. "Fine. I'm with you."

::

An hour later, and the three boys are staring down at what used to be Ryan. Brendon cries again, closing his eyes and folding in on himself. The corpse laying below them is fingerless. His eyes are laying on the floor, his shining curls are neatly shaved and are tied in a plastic bag. There's no teeth, the hands and wrists are chopped off so Ryan's tattoos aren't there, and the rest of the body is soaking in bleach.

Suddenly, Spencer clears his throat, "Okay. We're going to take this body and wrap it up. We put the limbs in a trash bag. We're going to drive into the woods, we'll start a fire and burn the eyes, teeth, hair, wrists, and fingers. Then we leave the body for the worms, maybe dig a shallow hole for it. After a few days, Brendon will tweet from Ryan's account that he's going for a hike. And after a day or two, Bren will call the cops. He won't fucking know where Ryan was hiking, and he'll be scared. So, so scared. If they find the body--if--then it'll be unidentifiable. The cops'll think it's either not him, or some crazed fan killed him."

Brendon swallows, nodding. After a minute, Jon does the same. Spencer grins. "Awesome. Do you have any rubber gloves?!"

Brendon watches vacantly as Spencer and Jon move around him, gathering up the remnants of what used to be Ryan. He bites his look, glancing around. "Should we bleach the tub? Or the floor...?"

Spencer shakes his head, eyes glinting. "Nah, no need."

Swallowing, Brendon nods, and then they all reach into the tub, hoisting the body out. Slowly, they walk 'Ryan' out, shoving the garbage bag and body in the trunk, Spencer attempts to play soothing music, switching the radio on to the classical station, but Brendon just sobs as  _Claire de lune_  comes on, a song that Ryan used to play for Brendon, since the title meant moonlight. After a while, the radio is switched off, and they drive in tense silence.

Then, they arrive. Brendon swallows as they trudge through the forest, limbs quivering. The ground and forest are damp, thanks to a rainstorm, so it takes a while to get the fire started, but eventually it's blazing and big enough to burn things in.

To burn body parts in.

Brendon closes his eyes as Spencer carelessly tosses Ryan's hair in: he had loved winding the curls around his fingers. It feels surreal to see the same locks smoldering. He doesn't help burn the rest of the body, instead watching, choking on sobs.

This is all his fault.

Finally, Spencer finds a place to lay the body, and they scatter dirt and leaves over it, Brendon's hands shaking. Spencer sighs, before stripping the bloody gloves off his hands. "C'mon. We should burn these, too." He says, and Brendon and Jon stare after him as he walks away, uneasy expressions on their faces.

::

So far, surprisingly, the plan has worked. Brendon is due to send out the tweet about going hiking the next morning, and no one has caught on, let alone found any body. Brendon doesn't know how Spencer and Jon are doing, and he's still scared shitless about it all, not to mention filled with remorse. It's like the guilt is pressing down on him, weighing his body down. Soon, Brendon fears that he'll snap.

Still, that night, he crashes hard, falling asleep in a bed meant for two. A bed that had once held two.

And as Brendon sleeps, Spencer sits in the armchair next to their bed, waiting.

At Two AM, Brendon wakes, sleepily reaching out for a glass of water, only to feel a hand curl tightly around his wrist. Brendon lets out a confused cry, tilting his head, clearly out of it. "Ry...?" He asks muzzily, and Spencer bares his teeth, lunging forward and pinning Brendon's tiny body to the bed. "No. You killed Ryan, remember?!" He growls, and Brendon squeaks, frightened. "S-Spencer?! What are you doing? Let me go!"

Spencer chuckles, hands reaching up to wrap around Brendon's throat. To Brendon's credit, he flails around, letting out sharp cries, but Spencer only tightens his grip. "You fucking killed him, Brenny. The only person keeping us famous. Our money maker. But more importantly, you fucking killed my best friend." He breathes, and Brendon's eyes seem to budge out of his skull, face turning red, then purple, his vision tunneling, throat burning.  _So this is what dying feels like?_

_It's not so bad._

His movements slow, eyes rolling back slightly, and Spencer shrugs apologetically as he weakly attempts to break free of the ironclad grip around his throat. "Sorry, B. At least you'll be together now. How poetic, right?"

Then Brendon's ears begin to ring, and his throat burns once more, a desperate plea for air. Spencer turns from a blurry figure to simply a mess of colors. And then everything fades to black.

::

"Wyatt, come over here! Look at this!" A shrieky female voice calls.

"Holy shit! Is that... a body? Two bodies? What's wrong with them?!"

"I don't know, but the little one is all cut up," The girl says, frowning and snatching up a piece of paper, eyes inquisitive as she reads it, before handing it to the man. "Look at this. What the fuck does that even mean?"

He scans over it, brows furrowing. Is it some sort of code? "I don't know. Just... call 911." He says, and she nods fervently, eyes wide and fearful. He stands to comfort her, the paper fluttering from his fingers and floating off in the breeze. There's only one sentence printed on the paper, inked in dark, angry strokes.

**_I wasn't born to be a skeleton._ **


End file.
